


Old Soldier

by SherlockMalfoy



Series: Sherlock!Wizardverse Drabble Sets [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dark, F/M, M/M, MorMorMor, Moriarty - Freeform, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Slash, mormor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Colonel Moran was ready to just pack it all in. Sixty years in a loveless, hateful marriage to a heartless bitch. Twenty years before that spent as the lowest of the low.... And then He came.<br/></i>“Sorry to disappoint,”<i>he’d said.</i>“But this one’s mine.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Original Tumblr Anon Prompt: Uh... You asked for a mormor prompt? So Mary, what's the deal with that?**

Sixty years. Sixty long, torturous years spent bound to that… thing. That creature whom made banshees seem like proper ladies and even caused blokes to look away from veelas when she entered the room. Sure there were the benefits. The spectacular and irresistible marathon sex. The added bonus that kept him looking like a healthy, fit 30 something despite having lived  through most (and caused a few) of the larger international muggle wars. They parted ways twenty years ago. But still met up a few times a year to renew the bond between mate and nymph. Now done more to keep him alive and young and fit than any other reason.  
      It was during an off period when he’d found himself out of work. Needing to support himself after Afghanistan. Nowhere to live, and no way to contact the wife…  
      She had always been the one to find him. No matter how far he ran or how well he hid.  
      She’d even found him in the desert. Waiting for him in his tent. Flirting with a few of his comrades. Bragging happily about her dear sweet brave husband. Weaving her magic and her lies so heavily and thick that come the next morning they’d forgotten who she had even been. Swearing a goddess had come just to give them a bit of extra luck in a raid on the caves.  
      …He’d happened on a flat-share offer not long after his return to England. But the curly haired ponce took one look at him and gave him a dress down worthy of a general before mentioning his discharge. He’d used that as the reason to dismiss him. Citing he couldn’t be trusted. He’d sooner kill the man in his sleep than share a flat.  
      He didn’t have to wait long, though, for another offer to come up. He’d called the number, got the details. Knew the tube wouldn’t get him close enough so he took a cab. The old bastard kept talking to him. About him. He had this way with words and by the time they’d reached some shoddy construction zone (he hadn’t cared by then that this was one awful cabbie if he couldn’t even find his way around London) Colonel Moran was ready to just pack it all in. Sixty years in a loveless, hateful marriage to a heartless bitch. Twenty years before that spent as the lowest of the low. Outcast from the society into which he was born because he lacked that little spark of magic to make him normal. And unable to properly ease into the muggle world because of his lack of education.  
      The bullet and the blade had been his saving grace. The survival instincts of a wild animal. The years honed by war and blood and death. Not that it did him any good now.  
      And then  _ **He**_ came. Interrupting the nagging, the taunting voice of the cabbie as he egged him into making a choice. Taking a chance between life and death. He’d nearly picked up one of the bottles. Hand outstretched, unknowing if it was the good bottle or the bad bottle and hoping he didn’t live long enough to find out.  
      He was shorter than Sebastian. Small hands. Dark hair. Carried himself well in his tailored suit. But those eyes. Brown and filled with a homicidal glee. A touch of madness to him, and a wild, unhidden desire for rage and destruction in his voice.  
      “ _Sorry to disappoint,_ ” he’d said. “ _But this one’s mine_.”  
      And just like that he’d been bundled off. Set up in a nice flat on the West End. Cleaned and trussed up in new suits and given everything he could have wanted. He was wary at the same time. You don’t live as long as he had without the facts of life carved into your skin. This had just been an advance. To put him in debt. And soon he would be called upon to pay up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Original Tumblr Anon Prompt: Uh... You asked for a mormor prompt? So Mary, what's the deal with that?**

It didn’t take long before he saw that small package of unbridled rage again. He’d come bearing shiny new toys. And his marching orders.  
        He didn’t ask questions. And the man didn’t give any answers.  
        Only the promise of payment. Cold cash if he succeeded. Slow, painful death if he failed.  
        Or if he ran.  
        So he’d packed up his new toys and taken the files. He’d gone out, perched himself on high and waited. Hours laying on his stomach. Eye pressed against the sight.  
        And when he caught sight of that curly haired ponce again after two weeks, pulling out the chair and sitting in front of that terrible, wonderful cabbie, he couldn’t help but smirk. Just a few millimeter’s to the left and he could call it an accident. The bystander happened to get in the way of the bullet. Even sniper’s have their off days.  
        But no. He waited. Because he didn’t have a clean shot. He couldn’t see if the deal was done and the last of the man’s pills were gone. Only then could he take the shot. Silence one who had heard that voice no one is supposed to ever hear. Seen the face that no one was meant to know.  
        Except, now, for himself.  
        The man in the window stood, leaving the table and walking away. The shot was clear. He could… but no. He stilled his finger, focusing his sight on the table. Both bottles were still there. Both bottles still held within one single capsule.  
        Then the dark haired man was back. Holding it up. Sebastian licked his lips, but kept his breaths even and slow. Keeping his pulse down. Keep his focus. All he had to do was-  
        A gunshot. Glass shattering. The cabbie was down, and the other man was at the window seconds later.  
        Sebastian’s pocket vibrated. He ducked down, pulling his rifle with him. The vibrations stopped as he dismantled his gun. Quickly packing it away in the blood red case in which it had been given. He had not been back in London long enough to know the response rate of the police yet. He could not risk even a minute.  
        His pocket went off again. Already making his way down the fire escape at the back of the building, he finally pulled his phone out and looked at the screen. Two missed texts. He checked them.  
        The first notifying him of exactly how long it would take for Scotland Yard to respond. Faster than he had anticipated. Perhaps the mystery shooter who had done his job for him was to blame.  
        The second text was a location. Instructions to be there at a certain time.  
        When he reached the pavement at the bottom, he legged it quickly. Checking his location with GPS against the rendezvous. When he arrived, it was to a busy intersection outside a small cafe. He looked around discretely for any sign of his intended contact, only to spot the man himself sitting in the window seat. An espresso in front of him and his head bent briefly. When he looked up, Sebastian’s phone went off. A single word. Not a request, but a command.  
        <i>Inside</i>.  
        He gave a nod of understanding and made his way to the door. He moved aside as a young couple were making their way out, and then slipped through before the door could close again. With a practiced, perfected casual stride he crossed to the table at the window. Setting down his case, keeping it within easy reach and seating himself across from the unassuming figure.  
        “Boss,” he said simply, still not knowing any other name. “I-“  
        “You were following orders,” he said with a dismissive wave to the waitress who appeared beside their table.  
        Sebastian glanced at her briefly before allowing his gaze to travel the rest of the cafe. Plotting each exit in his mind. Noting each possible escape route like it was second nature.  
        “I don’t bite,” he said, drawing the old soldier’s attention back to him. “Unless you’d like me to.”  
        “Sorry, boss,” he said, trying to look relaxed while keeping his guard up. “Old habits.”  
        “I’m sure,” he said, cutting wild stare over to another waitress. Feeling his eyes on her she had looked up. Silently he indicated the cheerful, eager woman from before. And the woman gave a nod of understanding before approaching his table.  
        She held no smile. But instead appeared calm and blank. “My apologies, sir,” she said, glancing at Sebastian briefly. “She’s a new hire. Eager to please. She didn’t know not to-“  
        “Tell her if she comes near this table again without having been called, I’ll have her strung up by her ankles and…” Sebastian watched his expression as he thought. The unhindered malice and the utter glee in his eyes wove together a tale so morally corrupt that he felt he should look away before he too fell into the abyss. But at the same time he could not, for he was privileged to be watching a master composing a minor aria of a greater symphony.  
        “…and to conclude her humiliation before her betters, she’ll be violently violated in the orifice of my choosing by a rather large and uncomfortable pineapple.”  
        Sebastian hadn’t realized his boss had been speaking until he caught the very last sentence.  
        “Have you anything to add, Sebastian?”  
        “I- A pineapple, boss?”  
        “Do you think that’s a bit much? I was rather thinking the texture-“  
        “If you’re trying for damage, sir, you might want to go with a cricket bat wrapped in barbed wire. Maximum damage, lasting scars. Months of physical pain. But the psychological would last a lifetime.”  
        He smiled. And in that fleeting moment, when the waitress had paled while trying to hide her own disgust and horror at the things the two men had said, Sebastian realized how easy it had been to just let go. He knew he’d do anything to see that smile again.  
        “We’ll do the pineapple in one orifice. I just like the idea of the big green part sticking out from somewhere. Then in another, we’ll use the bat.” The woman nodded, starting to turn. But his words went from amused to angry in less than a second. “I didn’t tell you to leave!”  
        She froze, letting out a whimper before finally turning her attention back to him. “Y…y….”  
        “Y… y… That’s Yes Sir,” he mocked viciously. “You’re to bring to me another espresso. And a strong coffee for Sebastian. Soy milk, two table spoons. Raw sugar. And… Sebastian, do you prefer biscuits or a croissant?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Three chocolate biscuits and a croissant. Hurry along now, little bunny. Before daddy gets really angry.”  
        “Yes sir,” she said quickly, hurrying away before he could stop her once more.  
        Then, much to Sebastian’s surprise, he turned his attention back to him and leaned forward, elbows on the table and hands locked together beneath his chin. “So,” he said. “You didn’t fail. You were there, as ordered. Ready and waiting, as ordered. And then someone else got in the way.”  
        He nodded, opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted. “Call me Jim,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “And that idiot I explicitly instructed the driver not to target is Sherlock Holmes. I expect we’re going to be seeing a lot of him as a result of tonight’s blunder…”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Original Tumblr Anon Prompt: Uh... You asked for a mormor prompt? So Mary, what's the deal with that?**
> 
> I swear, Sebby just sort of attracts the psychopaths. Really, he does.

Two months in, Sebastian had finally settled into his routine. He liked to think he was free to come and go as he pleased, but knew it was only the illusion of freedom. A life carefully crafted to reflect nothing of value. A dual existence. The easy going ex-soldier with a penchant for hard liquor and fast cars. And then there was the tiger. The silent, patient killing machine. Called to duty with the simple vibration of a phone or the chime of a bell like Pavlov’s dog.  
        And he was good at what he did.  
        In the few instances where he had seen his boss face to face, the twisted muggle had been amused. Enthusiastic and filled with what should have been quite shameful joy at the destruction and chaos he created. Their brief meetings began to stretch. Insults crafted from what Sebastian could only call a superior mind. Twisted and spoken in such a way that to an outside observer they could have almost been friendly endearments.  
        But that was the thing with Jim Moriarty, he had learned quickly. So many sought for a deeper meaning to the words he spoke. In truth, he was quite a literal man. Threats veiled in a chipper voice and meant to sound harmless. Meant to sound playful.  
        Yet there was an honesty in them Sebastian had never known before. Oh, he was quite insane. There could be no mistaking that. One must be to engage in the long game against the man he now knew to be Sherlock Holmes.  
        Musing these thoughts, not for the first time, Sebastian had unlocked the door to his flat. Red case in hand as he let himself in. General Shan had been one of the more amusing targets of late.  
        “She actually believed he would let her live with the information she possessed.”  
        He had his pistol out and aim steady before she had even finished speaking. When she called up the lights with a murmured _lumos_ it was to see Sebastian’s unwavering arm. His solid stance.  
        She shook her head, making a _tsk tsk_ sound with her tongue and teeth. “You know what will happen my love. The backlash of snapping our bond will cause you to wither and die as a husk of a man.” Her ruby lips pulled into a cheerful smile, but her green eyes showed only malice. “Lower your weapon, husband, or I will lower it for you.”  
        He knew she could. She would. A compulsion charm. Or an _imperius_ would do the trick. She could even make him turn it on himself, again, if she were in one of her moods.  
        Her smile never left her face as she hopped down from the table upon which she had perched herself. “I must admit, that muggle has set you up rather well. Much better than the tents. Though I will miss having an audience.” When he did not lower his arm, she sighed and held out her hand. Summoning his sidearm to her effortlessly. “Really Sebastian, I’d have thought you’d be more trusting of me by now.”  
        “You’re a cold hearted bitch who left me for dead,” he replied, turning away briefly to close the door.  
        She tossed the long blond hair over her shoulder, inspecting the sidearm for a moment before laying it down on the table beside her. “You did alright against the giants. I dare say they’ll not forget the name Moran for many centuries to come.” A tittering laugh. “Well, the few that remain. You did them a favor, really. They’re just dying out on their own anyway. Now set that lovely new toy down and come here.”  
        “No.”  
        “Did I hurt poor Sebby the squibby’s feelings?” she teased. “If you’re waiting for an apology, you’ve still got another 150 years of servitude remaining. That is,” she said, exerting a small amount of her magic through their weakened bond. Just enough to compel him, whether he liked it or not, to do as she commanded. “If the itsy bitsy spider can spare his little tin soldier.”  
        “You leave the boss out of this!”  
        “Oh, he’s your boss then is he?” Her expression darkened as she gestured toward the table. “You won’t mind if I have myself a little fun then.”  
        He attempted to fight the compulsion, knowing before he started it would be no use. Free of his case, left on the floor beside the table, he hesitated for just a moment. “He’ll kill you.”  
        “Not if I kill him first,” she replied lightly, patting the table. “Off with the bottoms and up you get dear husband. I’ve a schedule to keep. Leave the shirt on. I need something to hold onto. You spider wouldn’t like it if I ripped out a handful of your hair.” She watched as he made to remove his shoes. “Just leave them. Not like you’re going to need your legs free. I’m doing all the work here.”  
        “Astoria, this is Italian.”  
        “I’m sure it is. He pays you well enough. Now don’t argue and  _get on the table_.” The last was snarled at him. And with a self satisfied smirk he clambered onto the table. His gun left beside him. It would be so easy to pick it up and catch her right in the middle of the act. Wouldn’t that be something… A petite, gorgeous harpie with a bullet in her temple. Dead and thoroughly debauched by a withered old corpse beneath her. Would be so easy… claiming his liberty in death.  
        I was thoughts like these which got him through his wife’s occasional appearances. Thoughts that kept him going and allowing him to fulfill his end of the contract. The violence, the absurdity, the sheer disgust of it all kept him hard and ready for her to use at her whim.  
        As promised, she had done all the work. Once he had tried to grab her by the hips, to slow her down and draw this out. If he had to do it, he might as well get some enjoyment. But no. She’d bound his arms and pulled his own gun. Keeping the muzzle pressed firmly to the soft flesh under his chin as she rode herself to completion. Pulling off before he could spend inside her.  
        Because that was the last thing she needed right now. To be tied down and forced to be something other than herself for nine long months.  
        She left him with a sneer on the table. Left to his own devices as she cleaned herself up in his bathroom.  
        He’d finished himself off before she returned. Hastily he’d pulled up his pants and trousers, tucking himself back in under her scrutinizing gaze. Before she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek and gave a satisfied smile. “Call me Astoria again and I’ll destroy everything you hold dear. Starting with your precious little spider.”  
        He swallowed hard, but met her stare. Something he hadn’t done in twenty years. She frowned. “You’ve got a bit of fight in you again,” she said and he could hear the disappointment in her voice. Delicate fingers reached up to take him tightly by the chin. Nails digging into his skin just deep enough to create half-moon creases but not quite hard enough to break flesh. “I may have to rip it out of you again.”  
        “What should I call you this time, Astoria?” he replied, knowing it would get under her skin.  
        “Mary will do. It’s fitting, I think. Small, quiet, and unassuming. Like me.” She released him, giving a little shove before waving at a light fixture.  
        He frowned, turning his eyes towards it.  
        A childish giggle. “I do hope your boss enjoyed the show. I’d have preferred the chair, but the table is at just the right position for that camera.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like the Sherlock of this Wizardverse, Sebastian's wife is a [Nymphae](http://sherlockmalfoy.tumblr.com/post/21240141769/fic-supplemental-nymphae).


End file.
